Greatest treasure of them all
by QueenYoda
Summary: A small moment in history in which Ben is harrassed by multimedia, Abigail is glaring him down, Riley has a rather disturbing book, yet they all treasure that which cannot be found.


The door opened with a very uncooperative creak. Riley Poole and Abigail Gates looked up from their work to see Ben leaning against the closed door, breathing hard, sharply angled face twisted into a silent mockery of some historic oxymoron he had newly discovered.

His hair was still wind-tossed and his clothes were not mathematically properly aligned and overly civilized as usual.

"You look winded," Riley observed, dispassionately. The afternoon sun poured in through the grand Victorian windows, the stone angels residing and playing harp on the balcony outside forced shards of orange shadows to dance inside of the room, stacked with books, historical documents and tea packets.

"Whoever came up with the idea to place multi-media and technology together," Ben raised his eyebrows, eyes bland with hidden amusement. "A pox on them," he growled.

Abigail grinned; Riley leaned back in his plush seat and sipped his tea with an over exaggerated amount of debonair. "Don't tell me they put a tracker on you," he sniffed.

"They might as well have. They always seem to know where I am anyway. It reminds me of the time we were being followed by Ian, his cronies and The FBI. Only worse," he stated.

Riley let a small smile curl around his lips. "Ah, memories. You should be happy Ben; you're a national star now. I hear you even have a fangirl club," he pointed out. "You have a… What now?" Mrs. Gates, newlywed, and having previously been playing with her wedding ring while the two men conversed demanded, perking up.

Sharp brown eyes glared Ben down. "Nothing but a couple little girls sticking my face on their walls, dear," he assured her smoothly, hiding the way his heart had sped up.

"Oh, and why exactly are there posters with your face on them, sweetie? I didn't hear about _that_," she replied, supple as a waiting cat. Her astute eyes did not help. Ben, Riley and the rest of the world in general had often described her eyes in the same sentence as a hawk's.

Only the hawk had mercy.

"Well, you know how manufacturing works. Especially with celebrities. They make something new every day," Ben pointed out, attempting to sound wholehearted and rueful. He glanced at Riley, an unspoken supplication for help.

But his best friend seemed to be deeply engrossed in a book. At Ben's glance, he glanced back over his glasses, and smirked. "Hey man, she's your wife," he pointed out gruffly.

Ben looked very much like he wanted to have Riley hung, quartered and his entrails drawn out and _burned._ Abigail looked rather like she would have enormous merriment in placing her husband in the wrack of medieval times.

The look would have been enough to send most others into a cardiac arrest. Ben though, endured it for a full five minutes before professionally striding across the room.

"What are you two studying, anyhow? I wasn't aware you could read, Riley," he quipped, neatly plucking the book from his friend's hands. "Ha, ha, very funny Sherlock," Riley griped dryly, rolling his eyes. Abigail shook her head at their shenanigans. "We're trying to find out just _how_ old our treasure is," she explained.

"Yep, there have been thousands of treasure hunts throughout history. Are they all somehow connected to this one? Some people say Columbus was looking for a treasure or that there is hidden treasure in the Alamo. Hidden treasure here, hidden riches there…" Riley shrugged.

"We just want to know how far back it goes," he said. "Well, scientific examinations could tell us that. We don't necessarily need books," Ben reminded them, with a cocked eyebrow.

"True," Abigail agreed. "Nevertheless, since the scientific examinations have yet to return, we turn to books. Pick one, knowledge is power," she ordered, pointing to the stack. "And give me mine back!" Riley added, groping madly for the manuscript. Ben held it away with one hand, staring Riley passively in the face when he stood.

He looked at the cover of the book, and both brows shot up. "The legends and fables about the diverse techniques of gaining more male virility? Riley, what exactly is _this_?" He asked, waving the book pointedly. "Wait a minute, let me see that," Abigail said, eyes twinkling and head cocked. "No!" Riley snatched at the book again, but Ben held it over his head with a small apologetic smile.

"Sorry, _man,_ but she is my wife," he said smugly. Riley gave him a glare that resembled the look many historians speculated Lady Jane Grey would have given Queen Mary at her execution.

Ben walked over to hand his wife the book, and upon seeing the cover, her brows also shot up. "Er…That's disturbing," she gulped, turning her head away abruptly.

"Sorry, should have warned you. Anyway Riley, here's the evidence of your dwindling education back," Ben retorted, once more plucking the book from Abigail to hand it over to Riley, who snatched it and held the thing of literature against his chest possessively.

"It is not evidence of anything of the sort, Ben. If anything, my continued association with you proves my dwindling sanity," Riley huffed, seating himself into the plush seat again with dignity. "He has a point," Abigail told her husband knowingly, as Ben grabbed a real work of history and fact.

He sat on the floor near the books, displaying a bone deep sense of modesty that was seldom seen on the exterior.

"I refuse to acknowledge that statement, nor your treasonous agreement with it," Ben informed his best friend and soul mate without emotion. Chuckling softly, Riley and Abigail returned to their books, and allowed the riches of knowledge to spoil them dry.

After all, what greater treasure was there?


End file.
